


The Stench of Rats

by JeffandMarty



Category: Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) (1969)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 13:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16119308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeffandMarty/pseuds/JeffandMarty
Summary: Jeff goes missing, and Marty sets out to find him.





	The Stench of Rats

Marty hated walking through things. 

The lack of feeling, the unnatural sight of his body sliding through solid objects – it all served as a constant reminder of his intangibility and his status of being very much not alive. He preferred to simply disappear and reappear wherever he pleased, which was overall a much better experience, if a bit annoying when Jeff ended looking in the wrong direction when he jumped.

But today, as he did so, popping into existence in the office of Randall and Hopkirk Deceased, he was met with silence and an empty room. Jeannie was having a day off after getting sick, and was at home, wrapped up warm in bed (he had made sure of that by not sticking around to bring the temperature of the room down). 

But Jeff? He was usually in the office at this time of day, however, knowing Jeff, he’d probably had a late night and was sleeping in bed, and Marty knew from experience how deeply he slept. Not even Marty’s shouting would wake him at times. 

The ghost sighed and rolled his eyes as he vanished and rematerialized in Jeff’s room. It was jarring at first, suddenly being in a different place, but Marty had slowly grown used to it the more he did it.

“Jeff?” He called, walking towards the bed. 

The covers were strewn about, like they’d been ripped off in a hurry. Marty’s brows drew together as he peered around, searching for Jeff. The room was in more of disarray than it usually was – there were papers scattered on the floor, an upturned chair, smashed pieces of cup over a spreading brown stain. He silently prayed it was just coffee and not something more sinister.

A twinge of panic started to set in at the scene before him. He could sense it now - stronger than it had been in the office - that unmistakeable feeling in the pit of his stomach: Jeff was in danger. Marty took a deep breath into his non-existent lungs, clenched his fists, and closed his eyes. He fixed his thoughts on Jeff; the exasperated looks he gave Marty, the way he got snappy when he was nervous, his habit of forgetting other people couldn’t see Marty and raising his voice in public. There was something, fuzzy in the back of his mind, like static, and when Marty opened his eyes again, he was surprised to find himself still in the apartment. He tried again, squeezing his eyes shut and concentrating harder, but it was like there was something stopping him from getting through.

Suddenly he heard it, an echoey voice – Jeff’s – but it was cut off and Marty could only hear a few words. “Don’t – it’s a – Marty…”

“Jeff… I can’t hear you. You really should learn to not mumble so much.” Marty said. 

He was calmer now that he knew Jeff was alive and conscious. Seeing as he couldn’t reach him as he normally did, Marty took it upon himself to find Jeff the hard way – by searching manually. He hadn’t had to look for Jeff like this since he was alive, and although it was inconvenient, he found himself somewhat excited about the prospect. He had missed this, the thrill of not knowing, of looking for evidence, of finding a clue that lead you to the thing you were looking for. Sure, he felt guilty for being so happy about not being able to save Jeff straight away, but he buried that under the adrenaline rush as he started scrutinizing the flat for clues.

After sticking his head through most of the objects in the flat and sifting through drawers using a combination of vibrations and wind, Marty finally blew away a piece of paper on the floor and revealed a small scrap of paper that he hadn’t seen before, with a hastily scribbled address: ‘105 Helmcross Lane’. It was Jeff’s handwriting, he was sure of it. And with that, he disappeared from Jeff’s flat in the blink of an eye.


End file.
